Wednesday, January 16, 2019 // The Statement
7B
Wednesday, March 27, 2019 // The Statement
7B
The freedom of a fake account
M
y most liked picture on Ins-
tagram is from the day I got
into college. The photo fea-
tures me walking down Hill Street past
Ross on game day, decked out in Michi-
gan apparel. My head is turned to face the
camera, offering a subtle closed-mouth
smile. The caption read a simple, yet clev-
er, “going blue.” The post was fitting for
the moment — I had dreamed of getting
into the University of Michigan since I
was a little girl. This picture perfectly,
yet at the same time, nonchalantly, tried
to capture the emotion of my acceptance.
It looked natural. It looked effortless.
It was neither of those things.
I spent the beginning half of my high
school years dreaming of what I would
post if I got in. After I spending [COPY:
“I spent” or just “After spending”] too
much time thinking about it, I meticu-
lously crafted the cool, calm and collect-
ed caption that would go along with the
meticulously chosen picture. It was stra-
tegically crafted for an audience — my
Instagram followers— a random collec-
tion of friends, family and acquaintances
who have access to my “life in pictures.”
But it wasn’t real.
Instead, my fake Instagram account
(Finstagram for short) painted the real
story. Finstagrams are people’s second
private accounts. They often sport a lim-
ited number of followers, with the pur-
pose of this being to cap posts’ audience
to the people the user knows and trusts.
Since the content of these accounts is
made to display embarrassing moments,
it was the perfect platform for me to rant
about the antics of my experience after I
got into the University.
It was tradition to wear college apparel
the day after a senior commits to a school,
and I wanted to show I was proud of what
I had achieved. I wore a U-M hat, a U-M
shirt and U-M socks to school. What I
didn’t realize — yet in retrospect, prob-
ably should’ve — was that my hometown
was infested with U-M alumni, always
eager and ready to shout “Go Blue!” at
any passerby sporting apparel. Random
people screaming at me was not an action
I was mentally prepared for.
In light of this, that day I posted a
picture on my Finsta. My eyes were hid-
den by my left hand pulling my hat as far
down on my face. My teeth were pressed
together, with my lips pulled back to
illustrate just how uncomfortable I was.
The intense mood of the situation was
secured with a black and white
filter. The post was a cry for help
out of my inherent awkwardness.
The caption read:
“so i know saying go blue at
random people wearing michi-
gan stuff is most definitely a
thing but it’s happened so many
times today and i genuinely don’t
know what to do back. i freeze
up every time. i forget that i have
hands and they flail and my voice
sounds like a broken cat it’s really
cute”
The picture took one second to
take. The caption took three to
write.
Instead of spending hours
tirelessly trying to construct the
perfect post, I showed my 50 fol-
lowers who I actually was. In
general, I don’t consider myself
to be cool, but in those few days
I was especially not calm. When
I was being berated with spirit by
strangers, I couldn’t even begin
to consider myself collected. I
was an awkward, excited mess,
overwhelmed with good news
and anxious for what the future
would bring. My Finsta post
showed that version of me.
It was genuine. It was real.
Finstagram is a fairly new con-
cept that came to my area when
I was a freshman in high school. Insta-
gram itself created a platform in which
people carefully create an identity to
display to their followers, allowing for
users to pick and choose what they want
their peers to see through their posts. It
was fueled by both pressure and a need to
stand out. It promotes the chance to try
to be as physically and aesthetically per-
fect as possible, as followers can’t really
see how much time is spent on a post.
Instagram identities are not real iden-
tities, and many girls were done with fak-
ing it. So in direct backlash to Instagram’s
pressure to fabricate, the fake Instagram
(Finsta for short) [COPY: partway down
the first page she writes “fake Instagram
(Finstagram for short) so the repeated
structure here seems a bit repetitive.
Maybe just “the Finsta was born” cuz the
reader already knows what a Finsta is at
this point] was born.
Primary Instagram accounts allow
insight into the user’s life for the pur-
pose of intriguing people who don’t
know them better, while Finsta serves
[COPY: Finstas serve? I’ve only
heard people talk about Finstas in terms
of Finsta accounts, not “Finstagram” as a
whole] as a form of updating people who
do. Finsta handles can range from being
named after an inside joke with friends
to a funny play-on-words of the user’s
name. They’re quirky. They’re weird.
They’re playful. Mine is named after my
favorite rapper, while some of my friends’
usernames consist of weird declarations
like @iwantsome_mashedpotatoes.
The content on these accounts is con-
stant. While I have been posting less and
less recently due to a lack of free time,
my Finsta was a platform for me to vent
almost every day during my junior and
senior year of high school. With stress
induced by school, parents and some-
times even my friends, my account served
as an outlet where I can let go. While Ins-
tagram showed me enjoying my “perfect”
junior summer at the beach, looking as
carefree as possible, my Finsta displayed
the evident struggle behind the scenes.
Instead of taking advantage of the weath-
er, I was cooped up in my town’s dull and
cold library. All that was on my mind was
finishing assignment after assignment.
My Finsta followers understood this
truth, with me writing:
“school hasn’t even started and it
already fully consumes me. just when i
thought i could celebrate for finishing
parts of summer work i remembered
that lang and italian still are fully dwell-
ing over my head. i swear lang is going to
swallow me whole”
It was a popular sentiment that my
surrounding rising seniors were relating
to as well. That post received comments
that reassured me I wasn’t alone in the
process, and in a way, that was enough.
That’s what the Finsta community is all
about.
It pains me that we live in an era where
our social media presence has such a
large impact on how others perceive us.
We’re reminded to always look good in
our posts, but not like we’re trying too
hard. Make sure the picture is natural,
and that there’s a good setting to fit the
mood. Never forget the perfect caption
to show everyone just how witty we are,
but not too witty — it makes us look weird
if the caption seems too thought out. Do
this, do that. Be this, be that. It’s too lim-
iting.
Instead of limiting myself, I found
a platform that lacks restrictions and
unsaid yet strictly followed rules. Maybe
one day, I’ll let myself [COPY: be/feel?]
completely free and delete my primary
account in general, but for now, my Fin-
stagram makes me feel liberated. It sets
me free from the useless pressure I feel to
fit the wanted stereotype archetype.
My Finsta inspires my real identity.
BY ANDIE HOROWITZ, STATEMENT COLUMNIST
ILLUSTRATION BY CHRISTINE JEGARL